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<title>Behind 221B Baker Streets Closed Curtains by 2broschillin</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26039488">Behind 221B Baker Streets Closed Curtains</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/2broschillin/pseuds/2broschillin'>2broschillin</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sherlock (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Short One Shot, high-function sociopath my arse, i like commas and metaphors, pre-Sign of Three, s3e02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 08:34:38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>648</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26039488</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/2broschillin/pseuds/2broschillin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>John needs to learn to do the waltz and sherlock is sad. he feels things. shit draft im aware.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Mary Morstan/John Watson, Sherlock Holmes &amp; Mummy, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Behind 221B Baker Streets Closed Curtains</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He was back. He was really there. The two people John Hamish Watson loved most were with him. His soon-to-be-wife and his problem. Sherlock wasn’t always a problem. He was just trying to help. Just trying to prepare John for the most important day off his life, or so Sherlock was told. It started with the bridesmaids, Lilac. Then the napkins, Sydney Opera House. And little by little the wedding came together. The only thing left was the dance. The mortifying reality of John having to dance. John never learned, he never took the time, he never felt the need. Now, Sherlock’s Mum on the other hand, ever the drama queen, forced him to learn. Sherlock’s legal name is William Sherlock Scott Holmes, so nobody would be surprised by this fact. Sherlock’s favorite dance was the Waltz. (Of course thats ignoring his love for pop and disco moves) He was never able to dance with somebody to the romantic swell of a string orchestra. He knew, of all people how would never dance with a loved one at a wedding, or fall for somebody while working on a case. Sherlock wasn’t that kind of person. He was the kind to keep the little things to himself.  He spent long nights before the weddings composing his song. This had to be perfect. It was for John, and no matter the pain it has to be perfect for him. Sherlock sensed something was wrong. Not wrong like when he misses a detail on a case. He drifted on for weeks as if he were walking on air. A better high than any drug or cigarette could ever produce. It finally hit him. It was emotions. He wasn’t exactly able to place it. It had bothered him for weeks on end. Ringing like a bell in his ear. He needed a distraction. And John was the perfect crime.</p><p>John was never one for romantic activities. He never even got his proposal right. He needed help, and he went to the only person who might be able to do it. Sherlock was a bloody Private Detective, he must’ve know how to dance.</p><p>The first day they practiced, John somehow managed to step on every one of Sherlock’s toes at one. It was incredibly awkward for both parties involved.<br/>
The second day, John had picked it up a bit better. The dull audio recording Sherlock had gotten off of youtube didn’t capture the feeling John was looking for. Of course, this was nigh impossible since even John was unsure.<br/>
Each day it got easier. Each day the half-hour was filled with more silence. More silence, but the silence managed to scream louder and pound in their heads more and more.</p><p>Sure there were giggled from time to time, life when John would attempt to dip Sherlock who was dancing in what would be Mary’s position. When John would arrive at 221B every day he’d hear Sherlock practicing. He heard the little notes Sherlock would yell at himself when he thought no-one was there. He heard all the sequences on the last day. He heard them and he cried. He sobbed quietly and told Sherlock he wasn’t feeling to well. They could never know about the small cries they wept for each other. </p><p>Sherlock showed up at John’s house. And he waited. As John looked out the window he saw a box of chocolates. Sherlock didn’t know if he’d done something wrong, but if he did he’d never be able to stand it. </p><p>They’d never say all those thought out words. All the 4 letter words that were felt during those sessions. It was only when it was too late, and when his chance was gone that Sherlock realized that he had felt love. It wasn’t for Janine, or Irene, or Molly. It was all for John Watson, the doctor who broke his heart.</p>
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